


He.

by ThatDestielShipper



Series: Johnlock OneShots [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cute, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluffy, Love Poem, M/M, Neil Hilborn - Freeform, Not funny buisness, Poetry, Poetry Jam, Sherlock Read Poetry, Slam Poetry, Spoken Word
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 22:38:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2127126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatDestielShipper/pseuds/ThatDestielShipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock convinces John to come to his Poetry Jam.</p><p>(Read the notes first please :D)</p>
            </blockquote>





	He.

**Author's Note:**

> I really like the idea of Sherlock having something that turns him into a 13 year old fangirl. And I decided that Slam Poetry is the sort of acquired intelligent hobby Sherlock would have. Sherlock kind of feels really OOC most of the way through, so I might just completely rewrite this at some point, depends what y'all think (:  
> Also, I felt it would be within John's personality because of his mental 'illness' issues (I use the ' ' as in he is never diagnosed with anything), to be uncomfortable in large crowds of strangers, therefore I wrote it in... 
> 
> I really hope you enjoy, I really liked the concept and hopefully you will too :3

"Please John?" Sherlock begged. "It's just a Poetry Jam!" He huffed. John put down his cup of tea.  
"I don't understand it. Like who wants watch someone read out dreary love poems? And why do you of all people go?" He asked, his confusion evident on his face. Sherlock' brow was furrowed slightly, must've been something John had said.  
"Sometimes, when something big happens, I get a short wave of inspiration and I write things. The Jam is where I get to go and share those things. It's good for me. But mostly I just sit and watch. The people there are less judgemental. It's nice to see people bare their hearts." Sherlock struggled with how to explain himself. "Tonight I'm doing a really special piece. And it's the final of the half-annual and I'm competing. For moral support? Please?" John picked up his cup again, and sighed,  
"Fine, but you owe me. All those people," he shuddered, "that pub is so small!" Sherlock almost beamed, he straightened up from where he'd been crouching by John's arm chair, leant down and kissed him in the nose.  
"I know you don't like big crowds, that's why I haven't asked you before. But I really want you to see this one. I won't beg you to come again. Promise." He leant in closer, and whispered in John's ear, "and if I win, we'll take the day off tomorrow, spend all day in bed." John swallowed in anticipation. 

They entered the pub together hand-in-hand, which Sherlock used to tow John through the crowd of people and tables, to the front of the makeshift stage where all the tables were empty. Sherlock sat himself down at a table in the centre, gesturing for John to join him.  
"Observers can't use up the front row of tables until the Jam starts to give the performers a chance to have a table near the front with their friends, and the judges." He told John, "Once the Jam starts they can use the empty tables too, or join others." John's eyes widened at the thought of sitting in a crowded room, sharing a table with a group of strangers. Sherlock rolled his eyes and squeezed John's hand, "Our table will be filled with other performers, I'll introduce you, make sure you're comfortable with them. I'm not going to leave you with a load of complete strangers, you idiot." As he spoke, a bearded guy pulled up a chair opposite Sherlock. Sherlock paled a little before clearing his throat and leaning a hand over the table,  
"Sherlock Holmes," he introduced himself. The man smiled and shook the detectives hand,  
"I know," he replied his accent American, "I done my research before I came. Neil Hilborn." Sherlock smiled back,  
"I know who you are... What are you doing in a London pub?" John was looking between Sherlock and the man, his confusion once again, evident. Neil laughed at Sherlock's question,  
"I'm doing a Slam course here, seeing as they went so well back in the US. And I heard there was a Jam here, and I called the organiser, Carla?" Sherlock nodded, "and asked if she minded me doing a performance." Sherlock opened and clasped his mouth a few times,  
"You're doing a recital?" He asked, dumbfound. John tapped Sherlock's arm, still confused, and a little uncomfortable, "Oh shit, sorry John. This is Neil Hilborn, one of the best Slam Poets I've seen, ever." He coughed when he realised how much like a gibbering 13 year old he sounded, and almost blushed crimson when he saw Neil's amused smirk. "Neil, this is my other half, and best friend, John Watson." John reached out and shook Neil's hand too. Once he got a name, he felt a lot more relaxed in these sort of situations. Neil's eyebrows raised for a second before he answered Sherlock's initial question,  
"Yeah, although, if I can get away with it, I'm not doing OCD." He and Sherlock laughed, as a woman joined the table. She was young blonde and wore a faded pair of jeans and a Sainsbury's workers polo shirt. She smiled as Sherlock.  
"Uh John this is Hayley, my biggest rival." They laughed together. 'Hayley, John." He gestured. She smiled politely, and sat down,  
"I've heard so much about you." She told John, "Half the time I have to tell him to shut up. And he never comes out for post-Jam drink because he has to get in to see you before bed." Sherlock blushed, and rolled his eyes,  
"Is it any wonder I don't-" she cut across him when she realise who they were sat with,  
"Shit, is that, are you actually him?" Her attention turned to Neil, and John turned to Sherlock who was smiling and looking at his lap.  
"I tell you to stay out however long you want." He smiled at the detective.  
"I-I I've told you, I like falling asleep with you." Sherlock looked up at John, who was grinning wide. John leant over and put a hand on Sherlock's leg,  
"You're such a soppy git, you know that." He kissed Sherlock on the cheek. 

///Sort of John's POV, but still 3rd person///  
Carla took to the mic again,  
"Nice Hayl's." She praised Hayley's performance on self identity. Hayley skipped to her seat, high fiving John, whom with, once he'd settled down and gotten comfortable with the 7 people round their table, she'd spent the night ridiculing Sherlock about who was going to rank higher out of the pair of them. "Right, next, give it up for our final performer before Neil, Sherlock!" There was a cheer, John squeezed Sherlock's hand, before he pushed himself off his chair and climbed up on the stage.  
It was as if Sherlock had taken off a costume and he'd turned into someone different, John thought to himself. His smile seemed easier, and reached his eyes, which it seldom did outside their flat, and the lights in his eyes made them shine. John was always been surprised by Sherlock's choice in clothing when he changed for Jam's, but now it looked right. Instead of a suit, or a shirt and smart trousers as he usually wore, Sherlock always went for a baggy tshirt and jeans. Tonight he was wearing a tshirt with the coca cola logo on the front and black jeans, and he made it look so effortless.  
He laughed when he reached the mic,  
"I'm literally really worried about cocking up now. I'm preceding Neil Hilborn guys!" The crowd cheered, and Jed, one of the poets on their table nudged Neil. "But also because I finally dragged my other half to a performance, and I don't want this to be awful, and have him see the worst thing I've ever performed." A few people laughed. "Right this is a short one, but I'm feeling it tonight. And well I'm dedicating it to... well I know he's intelligent so he'll guess." Sherlock stepped back and closed his eyes, the mic just picking up his long exhale.  
After a few seconds of dead silence he stepped back up to the mic and began,

"He smells like the first day of winter," it began,  
"Like the cold air after fresh snow." He paused, staring ahead,  
"He feels like Christmas and Easter,  
Like the suspense before a surprise.  
He looks like festive Christmas lights,  
Like a beacon of radiant light in the dark." Finally he looked down, his eyes finding John's.  
"He sounds like the first few flurries of snow,  
Like the coldest breeze, a roaring quiet.  
He tastes like the dying days of summer,  
Like he's always been in a different time." John could feel everyone on their table's eye's on him, so instead he kept his gaze on Sherlock,  
"He is like the world, and the heavens and beyond,  
Like the perfect night, or the immaculate finale." Sherlock stepped back from the mic. 

The room was once again silent for a few seconds. John could feel his cheeks burning, he knew that was obviously about him. This impossible, sometime arrogant, but fucking incredible man had become a beautiful wordsmith.  
"Thanks guys." He spoke into the mic before hastily leaving the stage. The room erupted in cheers, as Carla walk slowly back to the mic. John all but climbed on Sherlock's lap when he sat down, pressing a hard kiss to his lips, peppering his cheeks and neck with small pecks, wrapping his arms around the taller mans torso, not caring about the awkward angle.  
"I cannot fault that at all Sherlock," Carla's voice broke through the cheers and woops. "To think he was worried about coming before Neil of all people, I think Neil's quaking in his boots! But while the judges score and come to their decision on ranking, let's give a warm, Nag's Head Poetry Jam welcome to the Slam legend that is Neil Hilborn!" The barely quieted audience broke out in cheers again as Neil took to the stage.  
He laughed a few times, "For those who can't see, I'm sat on Sherlock's table, and he and his other half are being disgustingly cute right now." A few people laughed, as Sherlock's and John slowly broke apart. "Right, to save y'all being disappointed when I start, I'm not doing OCD, that baby has been put to sleep for a while. I'm going to do one that will hopefully make you smile by the end. So"  
"I've been hearing the world is ending..."

**Author's Note:**

> A few things..  
> 1\. Neil Hilborn is a real slam poet and he's incredible, you might have seen his poem OCD circulating as it went viral last yea, you must check him out on YouTube, the poem he began reciting was 'This Is Not The End of the World' which is so great. I used him because with hobbies and something as documented on the internet as Slam Poetry, Sherlock was bound to have an idol or two, and I wanted him to fangirl, or barely contain his flailing (:  
> 2\. The poem Sherlock recited is my own, you can find it, and other poems I've written over at Hello Poetry on my page, just search MishaKroon (:  
> 3\. I didn't pick a winner for the Slam because I couldn't decide. Obviously Sherlock's got the biggest ovation, but I feel, had I written it, Hayley's would have resonated more with everyone. So I couldn't pick!  
> 4\. I urge you to check out channels like ButtonPoetry, because Slam poetry is incredible! And I'm sure you'll find something enjoyable (: if you want you can pm me on here and I'll send you my YT playlist of all my favourite performances (:
> 
> Annnnyway! If you enjoyed this, please hit the kudos button, or you could also leave me a comment, as I say in all my end notes, comments and kudos make my day! So you'll make me smile whenever I get the email about it (: Thank you so so much for reading!  
> DFTBA xx


End file.
